Highlander: The Series: Methos' Journal
by Adam Tuttle
Summary: Methos' random thoughts at closing time.


Title: Methos' Journal  
Rating: PG or G, depending on who's doing the rating.  
Characters: Methos, Joe, Richie, Duncan, and Socrates are mentioned passingly.  
Me: Cynergy St. Cloud  
E-Mail: Cynergy@home.com  
Description: Methos' random thoughts at closing time.  
  
Cyn  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------  
My second story, its probably crappy to most of you more experienced  
writers but I'm feeling creative.  
I wrote this while I was drunk so I'm sure its a reflection of the things  
going through my own mind, just don't read into it too much.  
  
Disclaimer: If it can get me into trouble, I'll blame someone else.  
  
Cynergy St. Cloud  
Cynergy@home.com  
  
Methos' Journal  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Three AM.  
  
Closing time.  
  
How time does fly when one is having a good time. Its kind of funny when I  
stop to think about it, the last 5000 years have really flown by. I don't  
know exactly what it is about time, I've watched mortals (as I watch  
everyone) move about their lives. Time seems to important to them, which I  
guess it should be given how little time they truly have. Even Joe, the  
Watcher and one of my few friends, has aged considerably over the years.  
I've known him ten years and everyday I see another wrinkle on his  
expressive face, I'm sure nobody else notices it, maybe I'm a neurotic at  
heart, noticing things that I wish I hadn't noticed.  
  
I know I got here just after nine pm but the last four hours has  
flown by. I'm quite sure I'm stretching Joe's bar tab with tonight, I'm  
nicely drunk now. I know MacLeod, the young boyscout, considers me an old  
alcoholic but that's fine by me. If there's one thing I've learned (of  
course there's several things I've learned) its that its not a mistake to  
let people underestimate me.  
  
Joe's watching me now, pardon the pun. I'm sure he's wondering what  
I'm doing, hunched over my tattered notebook, writing my thoughts down  
furiously. Though I may not be around to see it someday, I take a perverse  
pleasure in knowing that when my Chronicle's *are* translated they'll  
reveal that most of them are only the ramblings of a drunken old man. I  
think it was Richie, or perhaps Socrates who asked me once, 'why is it you  
drink so much?' My response is usually a shrug or a distracted glance, but  
the truth is, I don't know. My past is filled with regrets and things I  
would change had I but the chance, but I've accepted them. At least, that's  
what I tell myself. I don't know, the times that I am drunk provide me with  
the strength to face the things I've done. Sometimes I tell myself that I  
drink to forget, a silent toast to those long past. But the truth is that I  
drink to remember. I've never told a soul about this but I can still  
remember each and every face of the people I've killed or silently watched  
die. My time with the Horsemen is know to Joe and MacLeod, known too well as  
far as I'm concerned. They still don't understand what its like to live as I  
have. I could tell them, explain my feelings, perhaps read to them the  
captions of my diary as I have written them, but would it really be worth  
it? I've been alone for so long now, I'm still not used to it though. Not  
telling people about my life, yes, but the companionship, no. I've trusted  
very few people, I can't afford to trust very many people. At least, not  
Immortals. And mortals, well, they would feel jealous or fear what I have.  
Imagine a mortal's reaction to me for a moment. A 5,000 year old man,  
walking and talking and remembering, a reminder that they will only live for  
maybe a hundred years before dying. What's a hundred years to me? Almost  
nothing, a single mortal lifetime, a few lies and a few hangovers. New  
friends gained, old friends lost.  
  
Sorry, Joe just asked me to leave. He's probably around 55 or so  
but he's still awkward around me, I guess as he should be. He acts  
comfortable of course, but I still notice his little insecurities. Never  
completely sure how to act with me. I can't remember that time in my life,  
when I was as awkward as him. I remember how to *act* awkward of course, my  
current persona requires it of me, but I can't remember a time when I didn't  
know exactly what to say at what time. Maybe its always been a talent for  
me, who knows.  
  
Cute couple, two people sitting in front of me. They can't be more  
than 25 or so, almost a quarter way through their lives by now, he's a  
smoker so he probably doesn't have that long but she looks healthy, very  
healthy... Sorry, I'm old but I can still look, can't I? Hell, they're all  
jailbait to me after all. He helped her put her coat on, very gentlemanly,  
I'm going to throw up I think. I remember a time when the woman would help  
the man, without question or complaint. But, the times are different now,  
computers and cars, respect. These are the elements of today's world and I  
suppose I'll have to respect that. Its actually scary, computers that is,  
changing lives used to be so easy; walk out of one village with a name, walk  
into a different one with a different name. And now? I need a birth  
certificate, a social insurance number and god knows what else. I shudder  
to think about what its going to be like in another ten or twenty years,  
I'll probably need a new barcode tattooed on my arm. I've noticed that  
MacLeod rarely talks about his future, or anyone's future for that matter,  
he's very much living in the now as it were. He's just a kid but I still see  
the potential he has, I know he's going to be a contender for the Prize. I  
only hope that I'll be there to see him take it.  
Its getting closer, the Gathering, I can feel it, the force drawing me to  
other Immortals. I've worked my way around the actual question but I know  
that MacLeod hasn't felt it, I hope he goes a long time before he feels  
what I'm feeling. I think I tried to describe the feeling in a previous  
entry but I think I can elaborate on it now. Its like, like a craving that I  
can't deny. Probably exactly how a smoker feels when going too long without  
a cigarette. Yes, its easier to consider it like that, an Immortal nic-fit.  
  
Okay, I'm home now, its almost 4:30. Joe kicked me out, how rude. I  
think he had a date, the little bastard. How long has it been for me?  
Alexia, that was almost six months ago. Since she died. I don't know what it  
is but now I can't even look at another woman without comparing her to  
Alexia, her flaws to Alexia's perfection. No, that's not true, I do know why  
I do that. Love, I guess you could call it love, as much as someone like me  
can feel love. I know everyone considers me a heartless person but I'm  
really quite the opposite, I would die for all my friends, not out of  
commitment or loyalty, but for love. Of course, I would hope those deaths  
wouldn't involve a sword or some such pointy weapon, but its still the  
thought that counts.  
  
Well, I've written myself dry for the night I think. After so much  
time I guess I've exhausted my creativity so I'll wrap this up and copy it  
all into my journal before passing out. God, I hope I still remember how to  
write in Sumerian, God forgive me if I have to resort to english.  
  
Methos  
Jan 24, 1999 


End file.
